


ordinary people are everywhere

by lein



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Background Relationships, Fluff, Genderfluid Lance (Voltron), Getting Together, Trans Character, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lein/pseuds/lein
Summary: The note, situated in the bottom right corner, reads simply: ‘Will you be my Valentine? Yes or yes.’ Surrounded by little hearts and unaddressed, it seems a little out of place nestled next to the carefully crafted drawings of both pigeon lance and the deviantart stamp Pidge sent to Keith that made him cry for upwards of an hour before he had wordlessly crawled atop the table to recreate it as closely as he could.Shiro grins as he picks up a black dry erase marker and circles a yes.





	ordinary people are everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> i missed writing fluff so much, catharsis is so serious rn and school's been sucking motivation out of everything (not to mention, mental illness shitting on me near constantly). not to say that i'm dropping it, i'm definitely not!! i love aliens sm... i would die for them..... but i needed to do smth much more lighthearted for my favourite feel good pairing
> 
> there's? mentions of casual dissociation in the third and beginning of the fourth scenes,, it's like really vague But? if the topic makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip over those parts. 
> 
> so uh happy Extremely belated valentines day, this was supposed to be short and sweet and then nearly three months and 5k later, i ended up w/ this mess

Shiro comes home to a note on the whiteboard. 

Penned in blue and unsigned, it catches his eye from the door. He can’t read it exactly from the door; the handwriting is small, a little messy, and unmistakably his roommate, Lance’s. 

He kicks off his shoes at the door, drops his bag in the entranceway, and approachs the board. A quick glance backwards shows no one else seems to be home. 

The note, situated in the bottom right corner, reads simply: ‘ **Will you be my Valentine? Yes or yes** .’ Surrounded by little hearts and unaddressed, it seems a little out of place nestled next to the carefully crafted drawings of both pigeon lance and the deviantart stamp Pidge sent to Keith that made him cry for upwards of an hour before he had wordlessly crawled atop the table to recreate it as closely as he could.

Shiro can just imagine Lance sitting at the table before class, marker in hand, clearing out a small space to write. He’d been alternating pick up lines the whole month in, what he referred to as a countdown to Valentine’s day. Pidge called it the worst subtle reminder that he was, yet again, single. 

Shiro grins as he picks up a black dry erase marker and circles a yes.

* * *

Lance isn’t desperate, thank you very much. He likes seeing people smile even if it’s at the expense of himself, it’s a natural thing. 

So, he thinks, it’s both a measure of goodwill and in character for him to ask the house, via whiteboard, to be his Valentine. Worst case scenario: he gets no takers and, if Lance is being completely honest with himself, he’s not really expecting any. 

Pidge and Keith won’t be interested in anything other than a free meal, they never are. They’ll probably be too busy talking over whatever it is that they like to talk about. Hunk would probably humour him if he hadn’t already had a date with Shay. Shiro’s too perfect, too tall and handsome and utterly perfect. There’s no way in hell that him or any of his gorgeous muscles would be interested in him.

Lance sighs. 

One year, he’ll have a Valentine’s date to plan. This year, unfortunately, is not that one.

* * *

Lance gets out of work late the day before Valentine’s and promptly trips over a bag in the front hall. He manages to catch himself on the wall with a loud shriek. 

Hunk jumps from the kitchen, arches his head backwards over the counter dividing it from the rest of the room. “Dude, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lance says as Hunk turns back to whatever he’s making. “Just didn’t see the bag.”

Keith arches a brow from his perch on the couch but doesn’t turn. “One foot in the door and you’re already making too much noise,” he mumbles over the dulcet tones of How It’s Made.

“Yeah,” Lance throws back, toeing off his shoes. “Fuck you too, buddy.”

Keith flips him off.

Lance drops his bag next to the couch, rests his hands on the back, and leans forward to try and get a better idea of whatever they’re talking about on the show. His knees dig into the wooden backing. “What are they making?”

“Wet downdraft tables, I think.”

“What the hell is that?”

Keith shrugs.

“Where’s Pidge?” Lance asks, looking around. “Nothing says a good time like zoning out in the living room together and enjoying whatever Hunk’s doing in the kitchen.”

“I think Matt dragged her out for a celebratory dinner. He’s in town for the weekend, said something about getting a high score on some old game or something?” Hunk calls from the kitchen. “Which is a bummer because I bought turkey sausage specifically for dinner tonight. I mean, it isn’t awful and I’ll save it for dinner sometime this week or something but, y’know, it’s the principle of it all.”

Lance grins. “Is tonight an improvising kind of night?”

“Shiro bought some more Lactaid yesterday so it’s mac and cheese night.”

Lance pumps a fist into the air, lets it fall back over the cushion. “Yes!”

From the couch, Keith tips his face up towards the kitchen slightly, his shoulders raise. Lance can’t really tell from his seat but his gaze seems fixed on a point slightly above the television. “Hunk,” he says in a reverent tone of voice. The last time Lance heard him this excited was last mac and cheese night. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Hunk laughs. “Thank Shiro for buying your pills.”

“He’d eat it anyways, Hunk, and you know it,” Lance says. Keith nods, slow. “Speaking of Shiro, where is the big guy?”

“Probably went to the gym, he wasn’t here when I got home.”

“Makes sense,” Lance sighs out and folds his arms against the couch back, dipping his chin into the curl of them. He thinks about Shiro’s pectoral muscles, the slope of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders. “It must take a lot of upkeep to look that good.”

Keith tips his head back, catching Lance’s eye for the first time that night. He blinks once, twice, slow, and then furrows his brows together with a frown. “Don’t drool on the couch.”

* * *

Watching Keith eat mac and cheese, legs propped up against the table, eyes still half glassy and barely focused, is an experience. He’s still all there outside of the moments Lance catches him staring up at the right corner of the room with his fork hanging halfway out of his mouth. 

“You okay, bro?” Lance asks because, hell, Keith is his friend no matter what he may say otherwise.

Keith blinks, runs a hand through his bangs and sighs. “I’ll be fine, it’s been a weird day,” he says and stands, grabbing his empty bowl. “I want seconds.”

“There should be plenty. Make sure to leave a little for Shiro.” Hunk waves him off. He turns to Lance after Keith gives a small grunt of acknowledgement. “So,” he starts. “Got any plans for tomorrow?”

“Valentine’s day?” Lance takes a large bite, chews consideringly like he has anything to think about. He knows what he’s going to do and it consists of takeout, an action movie, and maybe, if he’s feeling particularly adventurous, an assortment of competitive multiplayer games. “You’re going out with Shay, right?” he says instead.

Hunk nods. “There’s a restaurant I’ve been looking into for a while, it’s nothing special but she wanted to go with me.”

“Cute,” Lance says because, honestly, it is. Hunk and Shay are one of the cutest couples he knows. They’re good for each other. “You should buy her some flowers or something, I’m super sure she’d appreciate them.”

“Was planning on it, I also bought her this really cool looking geode when I was out with Keith the other day. Also,” he pauses, watching Keith retake his spot at the table with a steaming bowl of mac and cheese, before pointing his spork in Lance’s direction. Lance watches his eyes narrow. “Stop avoiding my question, Lance.”

Keith quirks a brow, looking between the two of them as Lance takes another bite. He seems a lot more aware than he was before. “Is this about the fact Shiro agreed to be Lance’s Valentine?”

“Wait-” Lance says and promptly chokes. It takes a couple of seconds of thumping at his chest to unlodge the noodles in his throat. Hunk hands him his glass of water wordlessly.

Shiro? Like Takashi Shirogane? With his pretty eyes and that soft smile he gives Lance sometimes? Shiro, whose body mass could literally break him in half? Lance can’t figure out what to say, his mouth settles for a painfully high pitched, “Really?”

Keith winces at the sound but points to the whiteboard Lance hadn’t payed any attention to. One of the yes’s he wrote is circled in black. It’s unmistakeable who did it, Pidge had made them all colour code their markers for ease of identifying messages in the early days of settling in to the house. Lance can’t believe it.

He takes a long sip of water. 

Keith grimaces. “Don’t pee yourself, geez. You act like you didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“I-” Lance takes a second to stop coughing. “Of course I had something planned!” 

He doesn’t but Keith didn’t need to know that. 

He closes his eyes, trains his fork in Keith’s general direction, and says, “I’m going to woo Shiro so hard, you’ll wish you were the one on a date with me instead, pretty boy.”

“Sure, Lance,” Keith says but he’s smiling when Lance opens his eyes again. “Shiro likes white chocolate the best.”

Hunk groans. “That’s not even real chocolate.”

* * *

“I don’t think Lance expected anyone to take him up on his offer,” is the first thing Keith tells Shiro when he gets home. He’s curled up next to a grinning Pidge in one of the beanbags with a gameboy. Keith catches his eyes briefly before turning back to his game. “He recovered quickly though, said he’s going to woo you so hard I’d be wishing I was out with him instead.”

“Honestly,” Pidge says. “He’s 100 percent panicking over what to do. The timing’s too last minute to plan anything extravagant.”

Shiro smiles, puts down the bag he got from the mall as he toes off his shoes. “I’m not expecting anything extravagant.”

“ _ We _ know that.” Pidge nods. Her laptop is balanced against her toes on the edge of the beanbag, hands resting idle against the keyboard. “But Lance lives to be extra. He’ll stop at nothing until the day is perfect for you.”

Keith tips backwards, legs drawn up. “He dragged Hunk off into his room after dinner. It’s been a couple hours since.”

“I suppose I’ll leave it to him then.” Shiro hums, grabbing the shopping bag and stepping into the main living area. Pidge eyes it suspiciously. “Just means I get to plan the next one,” he adds absently.

Pidge’s eyes narrow. Shiro flushes. “The next one?”

“Somebody’s smitten,” Keith deadpans. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face.

“I’m,” Shiro says and steps past the two of them in the hall. “Going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

Pidge scoffs as he passes her, voice purposefully betraying no emotion. “I suddenly can’t understand English anymore, oh no.”

“Hunk left mac and cheese in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Keith calls out. Shiro hears Pidge start to muffle a laugh behind him and turns. Keith grins. “You should take a bottle of water too, since you’re so thirsty.”

Shiro shakes his head and continues down the hall. “Don’t wear your binder to bed again.”

Keith blows a raspberry. “That was like one time.”

“This month.”

* * *

Shiro wakes up early the next morning. He can smell something cooking in the other room, it’s Hunk probably, though he usually sleeps in if he can. Keith tends not to make anything in the morning, Lance is never up at this time, and Pidge, on top of having an erratic sleep schedule, can’t cook that well. 

It’s a rare day, one he has off from both work and class, and he’s honestly completely relieved. The free time lets him relax for the first time in days. He wonders absently, as he starts to extract himself from the tangle of blankets, if Lance has decided anything for today. Shiro doesn’t really know what to expect, just knows he’d be happy with just about anything. 

The more he thinks about it, the more excited he is to spend time alone with Lance. He grabs for his glasses, a stray sweatshirt to hide his arm, before venturing out of his room.

The rest of the house is a bit colder than it is in his room underneath the blankets. Shiro suppresses a shiver, curls his body further into his sweater, and ducks into the bathroom. 

He can vaguely hear someone singing from the direction of the kitchen. It isn’t entirely unusual, the sound, though normally it doesn’t happen at this time of day. Shiro usually tends to hear it around lunch, Lance’s voice accompanied by some sort of loud and catchy pop song. 

He’s a little curious now.

Shiro ventures into the kitchen. Lance is standing there, back to the entrance. Still clad in his pyjamas (tiny silk shorts and a stolen sweatshirt several sizes too big), his hips sway along to the music. It’s much softer than it usually is.

“You’re up early,” he says just over the sound. He wonders if Lance got up just for him.

Lance startles, turns. His hands coast across the counter, one rising to clutch at his sweatshirt. Shiro watches him sink against the surface behind him with a small sigh. “Geez, Shiro. Give a kid some warning next time.”

Shiro grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Lance says with a wave of his hand and then turns back to the stove. He tips his head back with a wide smile. “Anyways, good morning!”

“Good morning.” Shiro leans against the entry-frame. He can’t stop from smiling as he watches Lance pull a few small bowls over towards him. The rice cooker beeps as it flips over to warm. “Didn’t expect to see you in here.”

“I told Keith I’d impress you and-” He dumps something in a frying pan, it sizzles. Shiro isn’t close enough to tell what it is. “I intend to prove him right.” 

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lance hums.

“Am I allowed to know what you’re making or is it a surprise?”

“Well,” Lance says, elongating the last sound. “It has rice in it.”

Shiro laughs. “Is that it?”

“You like peas, right? I know Keith doesn’t but.”

“He thinks they’re too chalky. I don’t mind them.”

Lance nods. “Cool,” he says and then grabs for something in front of him, peas probably, pours them into the pan as well. “That’s your second hint.”

“Peas and rice,” Shiro muses. Bacon too, he notices, if his nose is correct. “Very breakfast.”

“Shiro.” Lance turns his head to glare. He pops the top of the rice cooker to measure out a few cups into another small bowl. He holds back a smile. “You were born in Japan. You’re the last person in this house who should sass me for breakfast rice.”

“Touché.”

“So,” Lance says, crossing the room to get a container out of the lower cupboard. His sweater falls up around his torso just brief enough for Shiro to catch a glimpse of the skin underneath. Shiro hums absently when he tugs the material down and heads back over to the counter. Lance takes a quick second to stir the pan before packing the rest of the rice away into the container. “Do you have any plans for today?”

Shiro shakes his head, realizes Lance isn’t looking at him, and clears his throat. “All clear for you to woo me.”

Dumping three more bowls into the frying pan, Lance mixes the dish. He takes a second to turn the heat down and moves the pan off the burner, covering it. He turns to the fridge, exchanging the tupperware full of rice for a carton of eggs. He bumps the door closed with his hip, movement fluid.

Shiro’s glad no one else is out here to see just how smitten he is.

“I’ve only got one class today, at 1:30,” Lance says and grimaces. It’s visible on the silver of Lance’s face that Shiro can see. “It’s not that long but I’m literally suffering just thinking about it. There’s this little voice in my head telling me to just… not go. I’m trying my hardest to ignore it.” He sighs, it sounds wearied. 

“I’ll still be around after your class.”

“It’s so convincing though, Shiro,” Lance whines. He throws himself against the counter, cheek squished into the surface, hands outstretched to place the egg carton gently down. His face is nearly hidden from Shiro’s view by the breadth of his back. “I could just not go and nap instead. I think I can hear my bed calling for me to come back.”

He is cute, Shiro can’t help but think, from the curl of his brown hair to the cocked knee resting against the kitchen cabinets to the fact that he woke up specifically to cook breakfast for the two of them. Shiro takes a second to swallow around the knot in his throat. “I can pick you up afterwards?”

Lance groans, pressed his palms into the marble top and turns against it. The movement is jerky and rough; his knees buckle, half-intentional, and he slides down to the floor. His sweatshirt bunches up around his armpits, Shiro’s mouth starts to feel dry. 

“Nooo,” Lance bemoans as he continues his downward journey to lay face up on the tile floor, arm flung out to swat the air behind him in hopes of reaching a cabinet. His fingers curl around the edge of the closest handle, he manages to open it wide enough to shove his arm inside. It returns with another pan, Lance grins wide in triumph, catches Shiro’s eye. 

Shiro can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in response.

“You like fried eggs?”

* * *

“ _ So, big boy, _ ” Lance says, voice reedy, over the phone connection. “ _ I’m all yours for the remainder of the afternoon. _ ” He pauses slight. “ _ Or you’re all mine _ ,  _ whichever you prefer. _ ”

He sounds infinitely more cheerful than he did following breakfast. Shiro remembers Lance half-panicked shout as he woke him from an impromptu nap on the couch, leaving the poor kid to stumble over his own feet in his hasty effort to make it back to his room to shower and change. He hadn’t been able to catch Lance before he booked it out of the door, only caught the absence of his own coat from the kitchen table in the aftermath of his own shower.

Lance’s question on the whiteboard was wiped out messily when Shiro caught it, like he had done it with the palm of his hand in a hurry; the space now adorned with an ominous:  **Operation Woo Shiro** . It’s underlined three times and surrounded by a multitude of hearts. It still catches his eyes two hours later. He doesn’t want this day to end.

Shiro smiles, fond. “It can be both. Am I picking you up at school?”

Lance hums. “ _ You can pick me up anywhere _ ,” he says in an overdramatic flirt. Shiro can practically hear his eyelashes batting against the receiver. He laughs, sudden and startling. “ _ You’re certainly strong enough to do so. _ ”

“Is that a fantasy of yours?”

“ _ I- um! _ ” he sputters, trying a few more words to no avail before settling on a sharp shout of Shiro’s name. He sounds positively indignant. “ _ You can’t just say things like that! _ ”

Shiro laughs until his cheeks hurt and there are tears rolling down them.

* * *

Lance is still flustered when he picks him up.

He looks pretty, really fucking pretty. Shiro’s jacket hangs loosely around his arms, framing the dress underneath. It’s relatively simple, gauzy black, higher in the front with three triangle cutouts around the waist. He wearing thick tights, a dark green Shiro notes when Lance turns to wave, cheeks painted a dull red with lingering embarrassment, half hidden by sunglasses. 

“Some kid in my class asked me if I had a hot date tonight,” he says, matter of factly as he opens the passenger’s door, drops a plastic bag onto the floor beneath the seat. Lance spares a glance at the small sampler box of chocolates, the gaudy bear, and continues undeterred. “Of course-” he folds his hands together, nudging the items over to place them on the seat and lean in close. Shiro can practically smell the lingering mouthwash on his breath. “Of course, I told him yes because you’re literally the textbook definition of a hot date.”

“I’m flattered,” Shiro laughs and Lance flutters his eyelashes over the top of his glasses, painted black and curled prim. 

“So,” Lance says, looking down at the stuffed bear. His fingers move to skirt the lace edging on the heart it holds. “Who’s this little fella?”

“It’s yours, if you want.”

He rolls his eyes. “If you want, he says.” Lance smiles, soft and pretty. “Of course I want it. A gift from the hottest man alive? Who wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure I lucked out just as well.”

“You-” Lance clips, voice sharper. He takes a second to collect the items and slides into the seat. His chin practically touching his chest as he slumps down further. His arms fold around the bear with a pout. “Stop using my pickup lines against me, you heathen.”

Shiro hums. “So you can dish it out but you can’t take it. Good to note.” Lance peers at him out of the corner of his eye, brows furrowed. His face is flushed and he looks so cute that Shiro has to a take a moment to let it all sink in. Their date has only just began and Shiro already doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to think about tomorrow. 

“What. The hell does that mean?” 

“I’m going to give you a taste of your own medicine,” he says and then, after a short pause, tacks on an affectionate, “Kitten.”

“Oh my god.”

Shiro winks.

* * *

He thinks he’s actually going to die.

Legs propped up against the table in the little dinner Hunk had told him about the night before, Lance is convinced that Shiro is going to be the death of him. It’s a nice way to go, all things considered, squeezed into a booth staring at the hottest man alive. Maybe he’ll be burned to death simply for gazing at Shiro’s muscle mass, sacrificed as a tribute to keep his biceps stunningly strong.

Shiro blinks up at him from the other side of the table. His head tilts slightly to the side. Lance can feel his heart gasping for oxygen. He swallows. 

“Lance? You okay?”

Nervous laughter bubbles up his throat, Lance feels like he’s boiling alive.  _ Tell him you’re fine _ , he thinks and says, “I think I’m dying,” and immediately buries his face in his legs with a long drawn out groan. 

“Lance,” Shiro questions again but this time it’s lighter, more airy, like he’s trying not to laugh. 

Lance knuckles the shopping bag beside him and uses his thumb to push at the spinner ring on his finger. His other hand makes its way into his hair where it flexes open, closed rhythmically. He’s struck with the overwhelming thought that Shiro knows, he knows about Lance’s monster crush on him. He knows and he’s making jokes to try and let Lance know he’s okay with it. Lance feels messy like the whole thing is just a joke, a bad idea, a way to let him down softly. There’s no way Shiro, kind, caring, and so, so, so incredibly selfless, would ever like someone like him. 

“Lance, look at me.”

Lance pulls his head up enough to free his eyes. He looks pathetic, he has to. His cheeks are blotchy red, he knows it, eyebrows knitted close; Lance briefly wonders if his mascara has clumped his lashes together too. 

The look in Shiro’s eyes is oddly sincere. He looks so legitimately fond that Lance’s heart beats against the walls of his rib cage. He’s afraid if he opens his mouth, it’ll spill out onto the table between them. He opens his mouth once, twice, before snapping his jaw closed with a sharp crack.

“Lance,” he says again, softly like it means something special to him, like it belongs on the tip of his tongue. Lance has never liked his name more. “Are you alright?”

_ No _ , he thinks,  _ I’m overthinking this _ .  _ I’m overthinking this and I can’t stop. _

Instead, Lance cracks a smile. Half-hidden against his legs, it feels wobbly at best. “When I told Keith I’d woo you, I honestly didn’t expect to get wooed back.”

Shiro tilts his head to the side again, brows knit together. “I can stop if you’re uncomfortable?”

He shakes his head. “The problem isn’t,” Lance says and takes a small breath. His ring isn’t helping the nervous energy that keeps threatening to overboil. “The problem isn’t that I’m uncomfortable.” 

He sighs, continues because he can’t stop the waterfall of words flowing out of his mouth, “I’m not. It’s that you flirting gives me hope and giving me hope is probably among one of the worst things to do because there’s like literally no way you said yes because you’re actually interested in me? Flirting? That’s like... my thing. It’s like what’s expected of me, yeah?” Lance unclenches the hand in his hair, skirts it along the edge of the table, waves it half heartedly around. “Like oo, typical Lance. If he stops flirting with everyone he’ll die.”

“So, that’s why it’s expected of me to pull something like asking my friends for a date and that’s why I’m not broken up when none of you take me up on the offer because I expect everyone to turn me down. I figured if anything, Keith or Pidge might let me call them my Valentine for free takeout while we watched some old, shitty action movie. Afterwards, I’d trash them in every multiplayer game we own and they’d have to begrudgedly admit I was a great date and worth the effort.”

“I admit,” Shiro starts. He’s still looking at Lance from the other side of the table, never stopped. His eyes are soft even underneath furrowed brows. “Your message yesterday, I think,” he pauses, frowning as he thinks of how to word his sentence. “I don’t know if I took it completely seriously at first. I just wanted to spend time together, just the two of us. Somewhere down the line I started thinking about it as my one chance to go out with you.”

Lance wheezes, his throat feels dry. His one chance, he says, like it’s all Shiro ever wanted. 

Shiro’s mouth curls itself into a small rueful looking smile. “If I’m being honest I don’t want this day to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Lance blurts out. 

His face feels like it’s burning as he curls his legs underneath him. His hands brace themselves on the shopping bag, the table edge, and he leans forward. Lance feels wound, like he’s spring loaded. He continues, voice too loud in the crowded diner, “I mean, the day’s going to end, unfortunately, no matter how much neither of us-” he startles as a server places their food down. Lance murmurs a quiet thanks before turning back to Shiro.

He deflates, hand slipping off the side of the table to rest against his lap. He looks down.

“What I’m saying is, this doesn’t have to be your one chance, Shiro.”

Shiro hums. “It doesn’t?”

Lance takes a huge bite, chews slowly, and shrugs. “Not if you don’t want it to,” he says, sparing a quick glance at Shiro. He smiling softly, looks so pretty that Lance has to avert his eyes again. He takes another bite, this one smaller. “I really,  _ really _ , wouldn’t mind going out with you,” he adds, softly, as an afterthought. 

“We should plan it more thoroughly next time then.”

“Are you saying I didn’t impress this time?”

“No, I definitely am. Impressed, I mean.” Lance hears him swallow, doesn’t dare to look up. “Though we could’ve gotten takeout and watched a shitty action movie and I’d still be completely enamoured with you. I’m almost afraid of what’ll happen if I give you time to plan.”

“Might have to wait until the third date,” Lance says, tilting his head and directing his gaze up and to the side. His heart is still pounding, loud enough it rings in Lance’s ears.  “It seems,” he pauses against an inhale, holding it to try and calm himself down and hopes it comes across as theatrical. “I’ve exhausted all my date planning skills for the next week or so.”

“What a shame,” Shiro says, sounding completely insincere. “Guess I’ll have to plan the next one.”

Lance wills himself to look up at Shiro again. He’s still smiling, eyes crinkled around the edges and lips so soft and lovely that Lance feels his own mouth tug itself upwards in response. 

“Guess so, big boy.”

* * *

“You,” Shiro groans out as Lance drops with a large flourish to seat himself on the hood of Shiro’s car, tangling his foot in the handle of the convenience store shopping bag. Shiro raises his hand up to touch his forehead.

“Me?”

“You are so fucking cute it should be illegal.”

“If you’re trying to butter me up, Shiro, it’s working,” Lance says. He can feel his lips curling upwards slowly and he raises a fist to cover it. “Next thing I know, you’ll start telling me how much you like me and want to kiss me.”

Shiro lowers his hand, takes a step forward. He’s standing nearly between Lance’s legs now, a couple inches separating them. Lance leans back, resting his weight on his hands. He looks up at Shiro.

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Like you,” Shiro clarifies. “Wanna kiss you too-”

“Oh my god.”

“-Have for a while now. Keith won’t let me hear the end of it.”

“You,” Lance wheezes. He feels like he’s self-destructing; the confirmation in the restaurant earlier holds nothing next to hearing Shiro say it out loud. “Do it.”

Shiro laughs, leans in to cage Lance between his arm and his prosthetic. “Direct.”

“I’m trying to psych myself up,” Lance says and wets his lips. He can feel Shiro’s breath against his nose. “Still not used to people liking me back.”

“Oh? You like me back?”

“Just fucking kiss me already.”

“I don’t know,” Shiro grins, slides close enough for his lips to brush against the corner of Lance’s mouth. Lance raises a hand to curl around the back of Shiro’s neck. “Doesn’t seem like you want it enough.”

“Shiro.”

He exhales a small puff of a laugh, nose sliding across Lance’s cheek as he angles his head and presses forward. His lips are cold, chapped from the winter air. It feels nice, right, Lance is almost annoyed he had to wait this long to finally kiss him. Shiro pulls back after a lingering beat. “We should,” he starts, a little dazed. “Start heading back soon. It’s a little cold outside.”

Lance nods, slow and dopey before tugging Shiro back in for another kiss. “Okay,” he says after another and another. He can feel Shiro smiling against his mouth and it’s something Lance desperately wants to memorize. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

“So,” Shiro says as Lance curls his hands around the chains of the swing he’s seated himself in. “I’ve been dying to know.”

They’re in the small park close to home. Empty in the fading winter sunlight, washed in twilight blue, it feels serene, like time is suspended, floating weightless in the space around them. Lance feels like they’re the only two around.

He looks over at Shiro, leaning into the legs of the swingset beside him, and hums questioningly.

“You’ve been carrying that bag around the whole day.”

“I have,” Lance affirms, shifts his weight back and forth to nudge it over and over. Shiro watches it intently. Lance grins and does it again, more deliberate.

“Am I allowed to ask what it is?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I don’t know, Shiro,” he says, intentionally sounding out every syllable slow. Shiro laughs; it’s a nice sound, one Lance wants to bottle up so he can listen to it again and again. “Are you?”

“Alright, smart ass,” Shiro clips. His smile is sharp, eyes crinkled around the edges. Lance hasn’t seen him this relaxed in weeks.

“I prefer great ass but continue.”

A laugh. “What’s in the bag?”

“I don’t know, Shiro,” he repeats, even slower. Lance can’t stop himself from smiling as he pushes the bag through the sand, closer to Shiro. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”

He leans down to pick it up, straightening to resettle against the swingset. Shiro hangs one handle loosely around the end of his prosthetic and pulls it open to look inside. He grins, peering up at Lance through long lashes. “A five pound bag of Swedish Fish and white chocolate?”

“I bought a couple of stuffed lions too, couldn’t resist their little faces. The black one’s yours.” Lance kicks his legs, pressing them into the frozen sand to rock the swing backwards. 

“Thank you, Lance,” Shiro says soft and fond. He lowers the bag slowly to the ground next to him.

“You can thank me,” Lance huffs back, voice a crescendo made of bravado. His eyes fall shut. “With a kiss.”

“Good idea.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Shiro? Of course it’s a good idea, I came up with it.”

Shiro laughs; Lance can hear him stepping forward, can feel his hand wrap around the swing’s chain, half covering Lance’s own. Shiro kisses him.

“Great idea,” Lance breathes when they part. His eyes slide open and catch against Shiro. Framed in the serene blue of twilight, he looks near ethereal and Lance is so, so,  _ so _ gay for him. Shiro hums, mouth smoothing out into a smile, eyes crinkling with mirth. 

“Definitely one of your better ones,” he says. Lance likes the way his voice catches like gravel in the quiet tones. Around them, the park remains silent. “Second only to asking the house out via our communal whiteboard.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says and kisses Lance again. “It did, didn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> check out [this pic](https://s13.postimg.org/5a89uwrw7/whiteboard.jpg) of me n my roommates whiteboard last semester. it's got a couple of choice drawings that i love and appreciate and mentioned over the course of this self-indulgent mess
> 
> i did a lot of odd research for this fic including signing up for a recipe website for breakfast fried rice, looking up youtube videos about prosthetics, and deciding exactly which episode of how its made was on (season 27 episode 13; it also includes dial indicators, bassoon reeds, and coconut shell charcoal) before deciding to vague pretty much all that info. lance's dress is a modified version of a real dress, [here's an illustration](http://kievth.tumblr.com/post/159169619026/wiggly-fashion-kid-pidge-keith) (far right) if ur curious i guess?
> 
> i love this train-wreck of an au so there might be more; shiro is the only cis paladin in this mess... (it's not really mentioned here so i didn't tag it but hunk is agender :p)


End file.
